The Only Exception | W2S

TWELVE.

We'd danced in here. Laughed in here. Cried to sad movies in here.

And I'd woken up in that very bed to the very public news of him cheating on me. The pictures circulating everywhere. The rumours, the theories. Everything. I felt it viscerally. How could I not? It felt so heavy.

This was why I hadn't come back. I'd told my family it was because of my work schedule — but it wasn't. Not entirely. I could've come back if I'd really wanted to.

Of course, I wanted to see them all. I missed them every day, but it was a price I'd had to pay, for myself. For this very reason.

I couldn't be in this room. I wasn't as healed as I thought I was. As everyone else thought I was.

I left the room, closing the door behind me, and headed back downstairs, to where my family were all talking round the table.

"It's not quite ready yet, poppet," my mum said, until she saw my face. "Holly?" She asked, her tone becoming more and more concerned by each syllable.

"I don't think I can stay here tonight. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," I apologise, already feeling the tears starting to build up in my eyes.

"You can — you can stay in my room," Jess offers, but her tone sounds defeated. She knows she's fighting a losing battle. We all do.

I shake my head, wiping my nose. "No, I — I need to go back to London. I can't — I can't be here," I shake, the tears falling down my cheeks in succession.

No one fights it. I'm in distress, and they can all tell.

"Oh, Holly. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," mum cries out, wrapping me in her arms, holding me like her little girl.

"I'll stay for tea, but I need to make a phone call," I say, excusing myself from the kitchen, leaving it considerably quieter than it had been before I'd disrupted.

I didn't feel like I belonged here anymore. It wasn't their fault. It was mine, partly. I'd shared so much of my life here with Matthew that it all felt tainted now. It wasn't my life here anymore. It hadn't been for a year.

I dialled a number I now knew off by heart, and waited for a few seconds before it connected.

"Are you free?"

"I can be. What do you need?"

"If I said it was an emergency, would you drive two hours to come and pick me up?" I ask, trying but failing miserably to cover up a sob.

"Even if it wasn't an emergency, of course I would. Do you want me to leave now?"

"Yes please," I reply, my voice sounding shaky. I knew I sounded like a wreck.

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Text me the address," he says, and the phone call ends.

I do just that, and tuck my phone away, wiping my cheeks, trying to look more presentable for dinner.

I go back into the kitchen, except it's empty, only the smell lingering.

"Holly!" My dad calls out, the sound coming from the conservatory.

"What are you —"

"We're having dinner out here," he explains, and there's a makeshift table, my mum and Jess already sat round it, the food in the centre.

I knew their thinking for this. Matthew had never come in here. It was mostly used as a dump site for all of our belongings that didn't have a home anywhere else.

"Thank you," I say quietly, sitting next to Jess, and opposite my mum.

"Garlic bread, just the way you like it," my dad said, proudly handing me a piece. It was his way of showing affection, and it was well received.

We sat in silence, all too busy eating to talk to each other, and for a brief moment, I felt at peace in this house.

I stood outside of the house with my suitcase. I'd said my goodbyes inside, and I'd given Henry an extra long hug. I didn't know when I'd be back, but I'd promised to invite them up to London as soon as I had a free few days. And that was a promise I'd keep.

It was becoming dark, now, but I knew he'd be here soon.

And then, just on time, a car pulled up the driveway, coming to a stop just in front of me.

He climbed out, and headed straight over to me. Despite driving for over two hours now, his first thought was to come to me.

"Holly, are you okay?" He asked, and when I didn't answer in fear of crying for what seemed like the millionth time today, he wrapped his arms around me.

"No," I whisper feebly, resting my head against his chest. "No, I'm really not."

"Let's get you home. Come on," he says gently, letting go of me, and picking up my suitcase.

I climbed into the passenger seat, sitting in silence until he joined me, starting up the car.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I shake my head. "Not today. Maybe another time."

He nods his head in understanding. "What if I put on some Paramore?"

"That would be nice. Thanks, Harry."